


Corriendo

by D_Veleniet



Category: Mozart in the Jungle (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hailey tries to make Rodrigo talk about his feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, and gets a reeeeeeally long-winded response, because Rodrigo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Veleniet/pseuds/D_Veleniet
Summary: "You think that if I said I loved you it would be only for this moment?""I don't know."  She shrugs, shifting her legs so she's seated cross-legged, her back stiff.  "Look, I'm not asking to define – this."  She motions between the two of them.  "I don't need to put a label on it or call it anything.  I just wanted to know how you felt."  Her tone is forcibly light, like it really isn't that big a deal to her at all.





	Corriendo

**Author's Note:**

> I freaking LOVE these two, and I can't understand how are there SO FEW stories for this amazingly adorable pairing when I have like 8 different ideas. I'm also ignoring the interview where Lola Kirke said these two couldn't have a "truly romantic relationship" because HONEY, that's NOT how you (and Gael Garcia Bernal) have been playing it! ;-p Any Spanish errors are mine.

“Did you pack your extra leaves?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Did you remember your sandals?”

  
“Yes, yes, I have them.”

  
“How about your passport?”

  
“Ay, Hai-Lai, this is not my first time traveling.”

 

She lets out a snicker. “Yeah, but it’s also you. You don’t want to end up like Mike.”

  
He rolls a pair of socks into a ball. “Michel was very organized, but he was probably too, too – excited and nervous, he was very nervous about things.”

  
Hailey flips a page in her Sibelius score, which she’s been notating as part of her lessons with the Maestro. The other Maestro – Thomas. She'd said it was okay to pack on her bed, but ever since the suitcase started filling up with things, she's kept her attention focused on her work. Three weeks isn’t a long time, but it’s the longest they’ll have been apart since they started…being what they are.

  
“What about your thermos?”

  
“Yes, yes –"

  
“And oh! Did you get a package of straws?”

  
“Hai-Lai, this is Bulgaria. It is not a third-world country. They will have straws.”

  
After his straw suffered an untimely fall down one of the grates in her apartment, (his fault, to be fair: she had allowed him to watch football on her TV and Mexico had just narrowly missed a goal) he had at first refused to use disposable straws, complaining that it would ruin the taste of the _mate_. But when he'd discovered it would take 4 weeks for the new _mate_ gourd to ship (because no, he didn’t trust the ones available on Amazon or even on Etsy because how could he know they’d used the right materials, Hai-Lai?), he'd grudgingly relented. Plus, there was no way he could get the new jug by the time he left for his trip.

  
She eyes him skeptically. “And if they don’t? I don’t want to get thirteen text messages in the middle of the night because you get to Bulgaria and find out you can’t drink your mate because there are no straws.”

  
He shakes his head as he digs out one of his shirts stuffed in a corner of her drawer, muttering softly to himself. “Okay, okay, yes, I will buy straws.”

  
"Or..." She smiles a secret smile at him, reaching for a plastic bag stashed under her pillow and produces a package of 50 neon-colored straws.

  
He breaks into a grin. “You got me straws! Hai-Lai…” He leans across the suitcase to take them from her, but she snatches them from his grasp at the last second. They both giggle as he bests her by planting a long, firm kiss on her mouth, hand closing around hers on the package.

  
“You are the best.”

  
“I know.”

  
She giggles again as he examines the package in amazement.

  
“Fifty! Wow! I can have a new straw with each _mate_!”

  
He drops the package into his suitcase, rummaging some of the items around so they aren’t crushed, beaming the whole time.

  
“You are the _best_ , Hai-Lai, the best.”

  
“Do you love me?”

  
She sounds thoughtful, like it was a question that had just occurred to her, another in her list of things to make sure he doesn’t forget anything for his trip.

  
He freezes, heart catapulting into his throat before dropping to his stomach.

  
She can’t quite meet his gaze, hers glued to the zipper on his suitcase. He can almost hear her muscles tensing as the seconds tick by while he grapples with her question.

  
“Do I...do I love you?” is all he can come up with, gripping the outside of the suitcase for support.

  
She fiddles with the pages of her score. “If you want, you can answer for just this moment.”

  
“For this moment?”

  
“Yeah…” She huffs nervously. “Like with _La Fiamma_. You told her you loved her, and you said you meant it in that moment – and then there’s another moment. So…”

  
Rodrigo needlessly picks up a shirt and folds it in quarters, needing to occupy his hands. “You think that if I said I loved you it would be only for this moment?”

  
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, shifting her legs so she’s seated cross-legged, her back stiff. “Look, I’m not asking to define – this.” She motions between the two of them. “I don’t need to put a label on it or call it anything. I just wanted to know how you felt.” Her tone is forcibly light, like it really isn’t that big a deal to her at all.

  
“Ay, Hai-Lai…” He stoops to the drawer, extricating another shirt. “I am not – this is not something I talk about.”

  
“I know it’s not something you talk about; we never talk about it, which is why I have to ask.” She lets out an irritated sigh as the silence drags on. “Would you prefer to talk about it in Spanish?”

  
“No, no, _en español_ it is no different. It is not a thing that I can – I cannot – these are _feelings_ , Hai-Lai!” His hands swoop to a downbeat, pleading with her. “It’s like when someone asks you how you feel about music. ‘Do you feel this for music? Do you feel that for music?’ How can I know what I feel about music? I know that I feel _something_. It is the same.”

  
“No, it’s not the same because I’m not asking how you feel about music; I’m asking how you feel about…” She waves her hands in a cut-off. “You know what? Forget it. I retract the question.” And turning from him, she tucks her knees up, whipping through a few pages of the score and settling it noisily in her lap.

  
“What? No, no, you cannot retract the question! You have already said it!”

  
“Yeah, and you’ve pretty much already answered so…” She murmurs, her mouth a tight line.

  
Rodrigo flops down onto the bed perpendicular to her feet, his gaze landing on the strange abstract painting on her wall. _Ana Maria would like that_. The thought surprises him, as of course Ana Maria used to be on his mind a lot, but had not been for quite some time.

  
Since...since...

  
_Since Hai-Lai._

  
But no, it had been before that. Before they had started what they were doing. Before Alessandra. After Mexico and the visit to his grandmother.

  
_I see a connection between you two..._

  
“I’m always running with women, you know?” As usual, his thoughts start to fall into line as he speaks. “I am always running after them, or they are running after me – sometimes literally, like with _La Fiamma_ , remember? How I had to go chase after her in a boat?”

  
Hailey heaves a sigh, nodding once, though her expression immediately clouds. "Yeah. I'm not gonna forget the time you threw me in a shark tank while you chased after your lover _any time_ soon."

  
"Hai-Lai. It was for the music – she was supposed to sing, and she was gone, what was I supposed to do...?" He makes a helpless gesture.

  
"I don't know – not sleep with her in the first place?"

  
Rodrigo acquiesces. "Yes. Yes, that would have been better. But there was the concert. And that is not even the most I have been running; I once took a plane and then a train and then I had to drive hundreds and hundreds of miles to run after Ana Maria the first time she left me. And Ana Maria was running after me, too, though that was maybe different because sometimes that was when she was chasing me with things. She threatened me with a lot of things, you know, like – her bow. Her violin case. She threw a water pitcher at me once. Even a fish – she threatened me with this – big, big fish she had gotten from the market, and it smelled really bad and was all slimy and she hit me over the head with it. That was pretty disgusting, actually.”

  
Hailey’s eyes widen, eyebrows disappearing into her bangs. “She was kinda crazy.”

  
“Oh, no, Hai-Lai, she was not kind of crazy. She was very, very, _very_ crazy, _ai dios_." His smile is bittersweet. "That is probably one of the reasons I fell in love with her. _La Fiamma_ \- she was crazy, too, though maybe a little less. I only had to run after her that one time, in just that one boat."

  
Hailey isn't convinced. "She cut your hair off onstage with a _real knife_ that she got from her kitchen. After holding it up to your throat!”

  
He waves her off. “Ay, that was for the drama.”

  
“ _And_ she shot you!"

  
He grimaces at the memory. "Okay, that was not good. But at least the gun wasn’t real. Ana Maria – she might have used a real gun.”

  
This is probably not the way to answer Hailey's question, if the expression on her face is any indication. “So that's it, then. It’s about the thrill of the chase for you, isn’t it?” she asks, her tone flat.

  
“Oh, no, not always. There are women where I am just walking along, and they are – _pah_! – just there in my path. Though with them, it is over quickly.”

  
She looks like she’s turning over a particularly sour thought as she nods slowly. “So that's what I am, then? Just there in your path? Over with quickly?"

  
“Over with quickly? You?!"  He reaches for her, clutching her hands. "Hai-Lai, no! How can you say these things? No, you are not just there. You are standing still, yes, but you're not stagnant – no!” he adds when he sees her features drop further. “No, no, you are never stagnant. You are always growing and changing - the rose always growing more thorns, you know? - the petals opening more and more and more. You push yourself and you grow and you change, constantly developing more edges as you try new things.”

  
Her mouth quirks but quickly becomes a straight line again. “But if I'm not in your path, does that mean you're chasing after me? Or am I the one that's chasing after you?”

  
The answer is so obvious to him. “No, no one is chasing. How can I chase you when you are not running?”

  
Hailey is clearly growing exasperated. “So if you’re not chasing me and I’m not chasing you, but I’m not just – there – then what am I doing?”

  
He can’t help grinning at her. “I told you! You're standing there; you're growing and changing.”

  
"Like a rose?"

  
"Yes – sort of, yes."

  
Her expression sours further. "Great. So these other women are the ones you run after or you just encounter them, but I'm the fucking plant."

  
"The fucking _plant_?! Hai-Lai, do not say such things. You aren't a plant!"

  
"Then what am I?" Her palms splay out in her frustration. “I’m standing there, growing and changing and you’re just walking along – so how is that me not just being in the middle of your path?!”

  
“Because I am not walking with you. I am running with you.”

  
“So I _am_ running now?”

  
“No, I told you, you are –"

  
“Rodrigo!” She flops on her back, hands flying to her face in her exasperation.

  
He inches towards her. “Hai-Lai…” Prying her fingers away from her face, he curls his own around her palm as he presses a kiss to it, ignoring her glare. “You are not a plant. That was a bad metaphor, sorry. You are one of the women. I told you I am running, but I am not running after you. I am running _to_ you.”

  
Her expression softens, though she still eyes him warily. “You’re running to me?”

  
“Yes, Hai-Lai. I am always running to you.”

  
She seems to consider this as she sits up. “So what does that look like?"

  
"It looks like..." His hands weave some invisible pattern in the air, always better at illustrating what he cannot articulate. "Like there is some astronomical, gravitational thing about you that draws me in, in and in and in, so the other women are the ones who have just been there...on the way to you."

  
Her smile is small but real. "And what happens when you get to me?”

  
“Come, come.” He tugs her to her feet. “When I get to you, I do this.” He makes a show of taking her hands. “I take your hands, and I look at you. And there is so much to look at, Hai-Lai, not just your eyes or your lips or your smile, though those are quite beautiful, too – and also all of _this_ –“ he motions down the rest of her body – “which is also very sexy, but this.” His hand falls over her heart, smooths down her shirt in circles over her chest.

  
She snickers. “Are you going to tell me you like looking at my beautiful personality?”

  
“Personality? No!” He continues his motions over her chest. “This is not your personality; this is your passion. This is your anger, your ambition. This is your courage, your drive, how you push yourself to always be better.” His smile softens. “And so much _love_." She swallows at this, eyes darting off to the side. "Your love for – for the music, and for things that are different than you and people that are different than you, and, and - for people! And for the kids, I’ve seen how much you love the kids. So much _love_ , Hai-Lai.”

  
Her smile grows but still wavers. “Thanks. I...didn’t know you saw all that in me.”

  
Rodrigo gives her one of his patented _how could you not notice something so obvious_ head jerks. “Hai-Lai. Of course I see all these things. And I could keep looking. I could look and look and look.”

  
A little crease appears on her forehead. “But…?”

  
“But – I want to see what you see. Like this.” And he drops one of her hands, turning to face the opposite wall, keeping hold of her other hand. “Now you stand with me like this.” She mirrors him, turning. “And what do you see? Tell me what you see.”

  
“Um…” She starts, shaking her head. “I see – the shelf.” She indicates with their joined hands. “It’s dusty.”

  
“Ahh, you see the dust? Yes, I see that, mm. You know, I never understood why people are bothered by dust. It is just - little bits of dirt that float through the air and land on things. So why? Why does that bother them? Do people just not like any dirt on their things?"

  
"Actually, I read that dust is composed mostly of human skin."

  
An involuntary noise escapes from the back of his throat. "Human _skin_?"

  
"Yeah, like the skin that flakes off, it mixes with other stuff and becomes dust."

  
"Ay, that is – that is very disturbing. We'll stop talking about dust." He motions with his other hand. "Ignore the dust. But do you want to know what I see?”

  
“What?”

  
“I see all the books!"

  
"Ah."

  
"Look at all those books you have, Hai-Lai, so many! There is - _War and Peace. 1984. Joy of Cooking. Harry Potter_ – yes! You must have Harry Potter, right? _20th Century Composers. The Art of Reed Making_ …”

  
“Rodrigo, are you going to name all the books on my shelf?”

  
“No. No, no. But you do see the books, Hai-Lai? Now that I’ve pointed them out to you?”

  
“Yes, I see the books. I saw them before – you just asked me to tell you the first thing I saw." She’s clearly getting impatient. “Is there a point to this?”

  
“Yes, of course there's a point! You see the books – and I see the books. You saw the shelf, and you saw it was dusty, and you noticed that when I didn’t. And then you pointed it out to me, and I saw it was dusty, too. You see?”

A few seconds tick by while she seems to try to make sense of it all. “Not really. What are we doing, Rodrigo?”

  
“Okay, okay, we will try something different. We will look at another – no, we will – we will do it this way. Close your eyes, Hai-Lai.”

  
She looks on her last nerve. “Why?”

  
“Because! It won't work if your eyes aren't closed.” He rubs her arm. “This will be better, I promise. Everything will make sense, okay?”

  
She lets out a noise through her nose, her look just shy of a glare. “Fine.” She closes her eyes. “Am I still holding your hand?”

  
“Oh yes! Yes, it's very important we keep holding hands. I will close my eyes, too.” Rodrigo closes his eyes. “Now, I want you to picture your life in five years.”

  
“In _five years_? Rodrigo, I don’t even know what my life is going to look like in a _year_! Or even six months from now!”

  
"No, Hai-Lai, of course not. Nobody _knows_ what their life will look like; we are not fortune tellers. But okay, forget five years. Picture your life in a year. What do you see?”

  
She’s restless next to him. “I don’t know. Hopefully I have a full-time gig in an orchestra.”

  
“Good! Yes! You should picture what you want your life to look like. You’re playing in an orchestra, good. I’ll picture this, too.” He lets the image come to mind, imagines the feel of the auditorium chair beneath him, the hush of the audience as they await the downbeat of the baton poised mid-air. The pounding of his heart as he watches her raise the oboe to her lips. "What piece are you playing?"

  
She's quiet for a moment. "Mahler's 8th."

  
His heart swells with pride as he recalls the piece she was originally going to play for her first full-time gig, and he incorporates that memory into the image. The first notes ring out in his imagination, making him beam. “Ohh, you are so good, Hai-Lai. So good. I can hear you, you sound so good!"

  
"You can hear me over the whole orchestra and chorus?" He can hear her smile in her response.

  
"I told you, Hai-Lai, it's like a bat in a dark cave – when you play, it's always the best for me."

  
She squeezes his hand. “And what do you hope to be doing in a year?"

  
“Me? I am the _maestro_ still of the New York Symphony. We still have a lot of work to do, but we’re improving, always getting better and better! And I am conducting the youth orchestra, and they are sounding so good! Can you picture this, Hai-Lai?”

  
Her thumb strokes his knuckles. “I love watching you with the kids’ orchestra. You’ve been so great with them.” He feels the weight of her head on his shoulder, her arm encircling his. “Maestro Rivera would be really, really proud of you.”

  
Rodrigo’s throat tightens at the mention, and he lays his head atop hers. " _Si_ , Maestro Rivera is proud, but he is also always telling me what to do."

  
She giggles, her arm stroking his. "He's been on your case again, huh?" He feels her move. "Rodrigo, can we open our eyes yet?"

  
“No, no, keep them closed!"

  
"Oookay."

  
"We want to make sure we are seeing the same thing. You're seeing me, and I am seeing you. And there are more possibilities about what we will see because we cannot know the future – no one knows the future. But we’re imagining _together_ , Hai-Lai. We’re looking at the future together.”

  
She suddenly drops his hand, startling his eyes open.

  
“What?”

  
She’s giving him that look like she’s actively questioning his sanity.

  
“ _What_ , Hai-Lai, what?”

  
“You’re talking about the future.”

  
“Yes, I am.”

  
“But a year from now. You’re picturing your life a year from now with me in it.”

  
Rodrigo scratches the back of his head. “ _Si_...?”

  
“Rodrigo -!” She paces a few steps. “You’re talking about a future together. Like – commitment. _Serious_ commitment!” She stops, her hands on her hips. “Is that what you really want?”

  
He blanches at the panicked look on her face. “Eh, it is not – I did not say – look, what I’m saying is we’re imagining the future and making sure we can see what the other sees.”

  
She holds up her hands. “No, but – what you’re talking about is the stuff that couples talk about. If we're looking together towards the future – is that what you want us to be? Do you want us to be a couple?”

  
Rodrigo eyes her askance. “Do I _want_ us to be a couple? Hai-Lai…we are a couple.”

  
She might have looked less shocked if he'd slapped her in the face. “We’re a couple?”

  
He laughs. “Yes, I thought this is obvious.” Her withering stare quiets him. “Did you not know that we are a couple?”

  
“No!” Her hands flail in front of her. "How could I know that we were a couple when we never _talked_ about anything!"

  
He makes a dismissive gesture. "Eh, but you and me, Hai-Lai, we are always in sync about these things."

  
“Rodrigo!” Her hands clamp down on his shoulders, her grip so tight it's almost bruising. She fumes at him a second before her head drops and she groans loudly into his shirt, accentuating each of her words with a little shake. “We never talk about what we’re talking about!”

  
"Okay, okay, Hai-Lai." It's enough to shake some sense into him, and he pries her hands from around his shoulders, kissing each of her fingertips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rubs at them, massaging her fingers. “Please forgive me, I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

  
She eyes him from beneath a furrowed brow, but then bumps her forehead against his. “Yes. But you know, there’s a really simple way to ask me that. ‘Do you want to see other people?’”

  
“To ‘see,’ this is…?”

  
“’Do you want to date other people?”

  
“No!” He jerks his head back at her. “Do you want to date other people?”

  
What starts as a sigh peters off into a laugh, her hands cupping his face. “Nooo.” Her voice drops to a whisper. "Even though I didn't know _we_ were actually dating."

  
"Okay." He drops his hands to her waist, his face serious. "Do you want to date me, Hai-Lai?"

  
Her lips quirk. "Yes."

  
"Do you want to be in a couple with me?"

  
A real smile blooms on her face. "Yes."

  
"Okay." His wide grin mirrors hers, which he kisses repeatedly, eliciting a series of giggles from her. Her head drops to his shoulder, and his arms come up automatically, his fingers tangling in her hair.

  
They stay like that a few minutes, swaying to some beat only they can hear.

  
"Can I ask you something?"

  
He nuzzles her neck. "Anything, Hai-Lai."

  
“What if you see another woman and you want to run after her?”

  
“You mean in Bulgaria?”

  
“Not just Bulgaria, but yeah.” She huffs into his shirt. “You kinda have a thing for soloists. For women who play with the blood, or who are passionate or beautiful. Or all three.”

  
He pulls back, searches her face. "But we are in a couple now, Hai-Lai."

  
"I know." The softness dissipates, her features turning steely, preparing herself for the hard truth. "But if I'm going to be in a couple with you, then I need to know what I'm signing up for."

  
His heart lurches painfully in his chest. “You think I would not be faithful to you?”

  
Her gaze drops. "I'm not saying that, but Rodrigo..." The sad resignation etched in her face breaks his heart further. "You do change your mind a lot. You said it yourself – you're always running after this woman or that one. If they're not running after you."

  
Normally, he would sputter out something defensive, accuse her of not giving him the benefit of the doubt. Like he used to do with Ana-Maria or like he did with Alessandra. Spout off some platitudes that he means in this moment, not thinking (and often not caring) whether he will mean it in the next.

  
But this is Hailey.

  
He trails his hands down her arms, clasping her hands and tucking them into his chest, over his heart. "Hai-Lai. I will not lie to you. In the past, my track record was – how do you say? - 'spotty at best?' There was a time when I would promise you the moon and the stars and pledge my love until the sun burned out from the sky.”

  
She lets out a little nervous huff. “That’s like fifteen billion years, so I probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”

  
“Fifteen… _billion_ years, really? Wow.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
They gaze at each other in silence a moment. Like they used to, when their words had dried up and they were left with these unknowable and unacknowledged emotions swirling between them.

  
There is a different kind of magnitude that weighs him, speaking these plain and quiet truths. Instead of bombastic, bursting with color and noise, they are muted, simple, but pure. “I cannot promise you the moon. And I cannot give you the stars. And I cannot promise you that I will not look because…I like looking at beautiful things. And you’re right: there are many talented, passionate, beautiful women in the world. _Pero_ …perhaps it is because I am growing older. But I am _tired_ of running.”

  
She smiles, but it is too tentative for his liking.

  
“And Hai-Lai, while I may look…you have this.” He presses her hands over his heart. “ _Tienes mi corazón_ ,” he murmurs, his voice breaking unexpectedly on the last word.

  
From the way her eyes shine at him, he knows that she understands. Pulling her hands away from his chest, she presses his over her own heart, giving him a watery smile. “ _Tienes mi corazón también_.”

  
This kiss feels different than most they’ve shared: slower, longer, more intimate, like they are tasting each other for the first time. From all of the impromptu kisses to her _let’s just get it over with_ to here - they’ve earned this.

  
He inches them towards the bed as she tugs at his shirt, as he unhooks her bra, until they finally topple over onto his piles of clothes and her Sibelius score, his packing forgotten.

  
He is changing, or maybe Hailey is the one who is changing him. But there is a reason he could not answer her question, and that is because he would answer with something he does not know if he can give her. He has only said these words to one woman, and so he must save them.

  
So for now, he thinks it. He thinks it as he trails a line of kisses over her collarbone, his hands mapping out and worshiping her body. He thinks it as he positions himself over her, clutching her head, hazel green locked with crystal blue.

  
Maybe, _algún día_ , he will say them. As he congratulates her on her first solo performance, or her first conducting debut. As he asks her a question he never thought he would ask again, or as he slides a ring onto her finger. As he takes her hand and makes a vow before all of their friends and family.

  
_Te amo, Hai-Lai_.

  
_Siempre_.

  
*Fin*


End file.
